


For Love of Little Green Dragons

by Amboriel



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Biting, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Flight, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amboriel/pseuds/Amboriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Green dragons rise to mate, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love of Little Green Dragons

Outside, a dragon bugled. Then another, and another.

J'ton ignored them. This soon after Threadfall he was too tired to make much of a fuss about a mating flight for a green – a green not his own, anyhow, and Calath was ensconced in their weyr grumbling about minor scoring on her tail.

 _I am not grumbling_ , she told him testily. _It hurts_.

 _It's very small, love,_ he replied. _It'll heal in three days. Five at most._

 _Still hurts_ , she said, and then sighed in the way that meant she was about to fall asleep. Which, sixty seconds later, she did, and J'ton gave a sigh of his own as he headed for the kitchens. Klah. He needed klah. And something to eat, because soon as someone realized Calath didn't need immediate care he was sure to be drafted for _something_ or other, and then he wouldn't get the chance.

Cook had roast wherry and tubers. J'ton filled his plate with it, sitting down at a deserted table. The impressions from the green's flight filtered even all the way down here; when the room started filling, shortly after the passion spiked, he was unsurprised.

M'let crashed down across from him, hand snaking out to steal a bit of wherry. J'ton rapped it with the side of his knife, and M'let grinned and pulled it back.

“Can't blame me for trying,” he said.

“Watch me,” J'ton said. “Who flew?”

“N'maiah's Temerith; S'for's Lorth caught her. Pretty short flight.”

“Long enough for someone else to get her,” J'ton noted.

The bluerider made a face at him. “Point. —Lorth was sneaky, though, or at least S'for was. I'd like to see Calath last much longer.”

That... was worth a laugh, so J'ton did. “You would, wouldn't you. But she's sleeping.”

M'let's eyebrow quirked right before arms came down on either side of J'ton, hot heavy weight leaning against his back – he froze. A voice like crushed velvet rumbled in his ear. “Sleeping for now, perhaps. She'll fly in a few days.”

B'vir. J'ton relaxed, letting out an irritated huff of breath. The brownrider was pushy, and arrogant, and more obnoxious than he was generally worth, but he was also harmless. More or less. When he wasn't being irritatingly charming, and attractive, and sensual enough to entice a Lord Holder's virgin daughter, much less J'ton. “I take it you tried at Temerith, then?” he asked dryly, not bothering to move.

“You know my eyes are only for you,” B'vir said, breath hot on J'ton's face.

J'ton snorted. “That would be a yes.”

“You wound me to the quick, my dear,” B'vir said in a conversational tone. “No matter. The truth will out in a few days. Four, I think.”

“As if,” J'ton said. “Calath's never given Sorenth a second look, any more than I have you. Stick to the Hold-children, they don't know to be wary of you yet.”

“Why, J'ton, do you mean to say that you've never given us so much as a thought?”

“Yes,” J'ton said, too tired to be anything other than terse, if not entirely truthful.

“So then it wouldn't bother you,” B'vir mused, “to hear how very much I look forward to Calath's flight.” Well. J'ton wouldn't go _that_ far, but unfortunately B'vir didn't seem to be stopping. “It will be a long flight, I'm sure: you are too proud of her to let her gorge, and she has flown well before. All the dragons flocking after her, and below —” B'vir's lips brushed over his ear—“below the riders, flocking around you, hot, pressing in until you can barely breathe for her want.”

“Mating flights are like that,” J'ton said, but his voice was a little shakier than he wanted it. “It's natural.”

“Natural.” B'vir said the word like he was tasting it, rolling it inside of his mouth. “She'll fly, and you'll be with her, and you'll know that I'm behind you but you won't know where Sorenth is, where he's waiting for her. And then, when she least expects it, she'll feel weight on her spine, talons pressing at her neck,” B'vir's fingertips drifted over J'ton's throat, “and then —”

“Then?” J'ton prompted, trying for bored. He was relatively sure he missed his aim.

“Then you'll feel me at your back. I'll pin your arms like he will her legs, and the back of your neck...”

“...What about it?” Shards, his breath was _not_ coming faster.

“This,” B'vir all but purred into his ear, sharp teeth closing over the nape of his neck, and J'ton shuddered all the way from his skull to the base of his spine, head falling forward.

Shards.

B'vir hummed against his skin, teeth tightening just a little – not even enough to mark – J'ton moaned despite his best efforts. In the back of his mind he could feel Calath waking, peering at him with interest, but he couldn't focus enough for coherent words, everything reduced to heat and weight caging him in and bright pressure at his neck —

—B'vir released him. J'ton slumped forward onto his elbows, trying to get his breath and thoughts back; a few moments later he lifted his eyes. Across the table M'let had leaned back in his chair and was watching with entirely too much interest, eyebrows nearly up to the ceiling. J'ton looked at him – _really?_ – and M'let shrugged. “Didn't exactly see that one coming,” he said, and J'ton would have dropped his head to the table if his plate weren't in the way.

A hand slid over his throat, the side of his face. “Beautiful, greenrider,” B'vir murmured. “It'll be a long four days.” He nuzzled the spot where he'd bitten J'ton, sweeping his lips against it, just enough to make J'ton tense, his breath come faster, before straightening. “Take care of Calath,” B'vir said, pressing his hand against the back of J'ton's neck. “She'll need to be strong for the flight.” The pressure increased for a moment, til J'ton's breath caught in his throat for wishing it were something else.

And then it was gone, along with the body keeping him trapped, and by the time J'ton turned his head B'vir had disappeared into the crowd pouring into the kitchens.

“So,” M'let said. “Resith shouldn't bother with Calath this time 'round, I take it.”

J'ton scoffed. “Like I'd give him a chance. And anyway she never has shown any interest in Sorenth.”

 _Sorenth_ , Calath murmured in his mind. _He is quick, for a brown. Very agile._

Something must've shown on his face just then, because M'let laughed. “Right. She's thinking about it now, though, isn't she?”

“Not... really,” J'ton lied.

Not that it did any good; M'let only grinned at him. “Crackdust. You might as well say that you weren't interested in B'vir just now.”

“I'm not. The man flies any green that rises and chases after everything with legs, and he's annoying besides.”

M'let dipped his head, then stopped, tilting it. “Annoying I'll grant you. But I don't remember seeing him at Temerith's flight a little while ago.” He gave J'ton a curious look. “I wonder...”

 _Sorenth was sleeping,_ Calath said at the same time. _He could not have flown Temerith. He says he did not want to._ Her voice was a little too intrigued for J'ton's comfort. _He says he will try for me. I will not be easy to catch, even for him._

“Both of you shut up,” J'ton groaned, and M'let laughed even as Calath asked why.

 

Three days later, J'ton was forced to concede that B'vir knew what he was talking about when it came to Calath. She was irritable, more restless than could be explained by a bad day or a tail that had already healed, but she wasn't showing anywhere near enough to rise that day. Tomorrow it would be – and, B'vir or no B'vir, J'ton was looking forward to having it over and done with. He wanted his sweetheart dragon back.

B'vir. The brownrider was about under J'ton's last nerve, all insinuating looks and arrogant comments and far, far too much attention. J'ton'd been cornered by him no less than five times in three days. It was a big Weyr: either J'ton was spectacularly bad at avoidance or B'vir was keeping a very close eye on him. Or both.

The prospect did not please him. Even when he was being honest with himself. Even when M'let and Calath, traitors that they were, teased him.

His hand rose to rub at the back of his neck before he realized what he was doing. He swore at himself and snatched it back down, and swore some more when he realized that B'vir stood not a dragonlength away, watching him, eyes dark with intent.

This could _not_ be over soon enough for his tastes.

 

“J'ton!”

He whirled around and narrowed his eyes at M'let. “What?” he snapped.

M'let shook his head, the smile fading away from his face. “...He was right, wasn't he.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” J'ton said – a lie, but he really could care less. M'let caught it, of course.

“Shards,” he said, “you're proddy as a green in heat yourself – she's just waking. And you, my friend, should probably get to your weyr, unless you want to do all of this in the open...?”

J'ton snarled at him. M'let rolled his eyes.

“Ought to've grabbed B'vir, let him get you there,” he muttered, not quietly enough to blur the words, and that was it: J'ton turned on his heel and headed for his weyr. “About time,” M'let said, catching up with him.

“Scorch that,” J'ton said, not slowing down, liking the way it made M'let speed up and fight for breath. “Resith won't be flying anyway.”

“What, got brown interests this time?” M'let returned.

So what if he did? In his mind, he felt Calath stir awake, hyperaware of the blues and browns and bronzes around her, eyes and mind sliding over her in anticipation. She liked the way their eyes felt when she stretched, long and slow and showing off her gleaming green hide.

“J'ton,” he heard, and came back to M'let shaking him by one shoulder. “Come _on_.” M'let's other hand grabbed the back of his neck to shake him again; J'ton pressed into it, just for a second, before tearing himself away and taking off down the halls. M'let swore behind him before following. J'ton really didn't care. His focus was too split between Calath and his own running feet.

He knew when he reached his weyr because the riders were already gathering, eyes intent on him like their dragons were on Calath. But it wasn't time for them yet: he went to the lip of the weyr, looking out across the basin to where Calath had nearly finished stretching, beautiful.

Her head came up slow, slow, eyes narrowing on a fat wherry, pains of hunger stabbing inside J'ton's belly. _Hungry_.

 _The blood, love. Just the blood._

She growled, launching herself off the ledge. The wherry didn't have a chance, a single shriek of terror before hot blood was sliding down her throat, and she wanted more but the direction was implacable – _Only blood!_ —she hissed and threw herself at another wherry, bleeding it dry, throwing her head back when she was done. The walls around her were filled with dragons, watching her, wanting.

They were certainly welcome to _try_.

Springing up, too quick for sight, forcing the dragons to swivel their heads and launch too late – a game of catch, now, and she was fast, more agile than any of them. Heat inside of her drove her higher, farther, twisting away from the blue that grabbed for her leg, leaving it to fall away from the chase – _she_ was not so easily caught, the blood-energy carrying her beyond the blues and up, up, no backward glances. _Yes_ , purred her other half, _beautiful clever love_ , as she pushed higher than she'd been before, slipping out of a bronze's grasp, sailing off and now, now chancing a look, because there was a gaze on her she couldn't find –

The brown came from above almost too late for her to swerve. But she did, rolling to the other side, twisting her head to find him again – only to find that he'd followed her, claws clamping at the base of her wings and weight pressing against her back, and she twined her neck with his in delight.

J'ton moaned, swaying heedless of the gap beneath him. Hands closed around his shoulders, drawing him backwards until he was pressed up against a body larger than his, strong arms holding him still. “Mine now,” B'vir said, rough in his ear, just before teeth closed on the back of his neck and he cried out, arching against the bright-hot feel of it. When the mouth pulled away J'ton's head fell backward against a shoulder, baring his throat – another bite, this time between his shoulder and neck, making him shudder before the man behind him turned them toward J'ton's bed.

J'ton went down eagerly, Calath's pleasure lashing through his own. Behind him B'vir groaned, hands covering J'ton's hips as he leaned in to bite a trail down J'ton's spine – J'ton arched into it, and keened when it ended in a hot tongue pressing inside of him.

“More,” he demanded, “more, shards—”

B'vir pulled away, two fingers pushing inside just as B'vir bit down on his hip, hard enough to leave a bruise and J'ton whimpered with need. “Going to mark all over you, greenrider,” B'vir breathed, “ _J'ton_...” He twisted the fingers inside of him so that J'ton cried out, nipping at his shoulder-blade to make the breath catch in his throat, and J'ton pushed back, trying for more and not getting it.

“Please,” he said, desperate, “B'vir, please,” and apparently that was all that was needed because B'vir moaned, surging forward, heavy cock pressing inside.

“Mine,” B'vir said, growling when J'ton turned his face away, catching it with a hand and turning it back towards him. “You're _mine_ , J'ton,” forcing J'ton to meet his eyes. Nothing but sincerity in them, and heat, and J'ton's eyes went wide, breath coming hard.

“B'vir,” he said, almost wonderingly.

“ _Yes_ ,” B'vir answered, kissing him for the first time, lips meeting and breaking away to trail over J'ton's jaw, and then B'vir pushed in _hard_ , biting just below J'ton's ear at the same time, and J'ton howled his completion, everything gone to heat and fullness and sharp pleasure-pain of teeth.

 

“Keeping you,” B'vir said later, pressing a thumb into a mark he'd bitten into J'ton's hip.

“Fine,” J'ton said, then, “Shards, M'let is never going to let me live this down.”

“M'let is not in our bed,” B'vir said. “You should be thinking about us.”

“Really,” J'ton said. “Maybe I need some reminding.”

B'vir's eyes darkened. “I can do that,” he said, and J'ton arched up into the pressure of teeth forming a new mark on his collarbone.

He rather liked it.


End file.
